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<title>Everything I'm Not | The Producers by LoserEddie</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292169">Everything I'm Not | The Producers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoserEddie/pseuds/LoserEddie'>LoserEddie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Producers (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, somewhat happy ending, well. nearly an attempt. but i would think it counts nonetheless</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:20:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoserEddie/pseuds/LoserEddie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo isn't very sure why he's still around. Maybe as a joke, maybe because he's meant for something better. If it's the latter, god, does he hope the thing he's meant for comes around soon. But if it's the former? </p><p>Well, he wouldn't be surprised.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Everything I'm Not | The Producers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Leopold Bloom was unhappy. With his career, his personality, really just his life in general. There wasn't exactly one thing that made him more sad than the other. All of these combined, however, turned him into a pretty depressing person. Which, I suppose, upset him even farther. Every day, he would walk home after a long day of work to his shabby apartment. None of his neighbors waved as he passed by. Though, they never greeted each other, either. Maybe they were as sorrowful as him. Yet, as he stepped in front of the mirror, he considered himself the most pathetic person in New York. He couldn't quite figure out what he hated about himself the most. He'd adjust his tie, it didn't make him look any better. Then, he'd run a hand through his hair, both near enough drenched in sweat. All that did was force him to think back to the office, the place he despised most of all. There was no sort of air flow (Mr. Marks reminded the workers daily that they didn't deserve it) so summers as hot as this one were especially dreadful.</p><p>Ever since his despair began to form, he dreamed of breaking free from all that held him back. If only he could quit his job with a bang and let his anxiety vanish with a snap of his fingers. Perhaps then he could live the way he truly wanted. He could become a producer, something he wanted more than anything in the world. He would spend all day lazing around as money flowed straight into his pockets. Everyone that ever doubted him would be sorry then. They'd finally realize that Bloom, a man they always pushed to the side, was so much more than he was allowed to be. Yet he was constrained. There was a possibility he even stopped himself. No, not just a possibility, it was the truth. As soon as he gathered the courage to fight back, he'd give up. There wasn't one thing he hadn't quit at one point, or at least tried to; for example, life.</p><p>Once, a few years back, he decided to stop by the shooting range before work, out of pure curiosity and boredom alone. He was the only person there. Even if he wasn't, he could have done just about anything and nobody would notice. He shakily aimed the pistol at the target. Then his chest. Finally, his temple. Why shouldn't he pull the trigger? He couldn't think of anyone that would attend his funeral. No rain would fall, for there would be no sadness over his demise. He wouldn't be shocked if there was sunshine, honestly. Earth could finally say goodbye to a coward. One that wasn't even man enough to shoot himself. He soon had to leave for work (god forbid he was late). After that, the challenge wasn't lasting through the day. It was to make sure he didn't cry throughout.</p><p>Sometimes he would simply lay in bed, thinking over what he had become, until he fell asleep. There wasn't much else worth doing. He was stuck accounting most of the week, so he didn't have time to do much else. Until that changed. Soon, he was assigned to go out and audit books for different people. It got him out of the office, at least for a short while. His social anxiety only sky-rocketed throughout these situations. The blanket helped as well as a single childhood object could. For the most part, he could surprisingly remain calm enough to get the job done. As long as he did everything on time, and didn't step out of line, Mr. Marks would no longer target him. That was enough to fuel him to continue working. Could he say it helped? In a way, yes. With the extra hours, he didn't have much of an opportunity to think about every horrible thing that overtook him. Most nights, he still ended up staying later than healthy, merely due to the fact he couldn't stop thinking about his own existence, yet the mornings were eventful enough to keep his mind off of such topics.</p><p>That's when he met Max Bialystock. Quite frankly, the man was a horror at first. Not only did he snatch his blanket away from him - a crime Leo nearly considered unforgivable - he proceeded to basically stuff him into a cramped bathroom as he "wooed" a woman that looked as if she was on the verge of age ninety. This was enough to nearly send him out the door... up until he mentioned the idea. It was just a small thing he noticed, nothing more than a silly little thought. But, somehow, that was enough to send him spiraling into a scheme he could have never imagined. It took some time before he considered accepting. After all, this could ruin his life, couldn't it? That's what he was hung up on the most. Until he realized something: if he didn't act now, he would never have the chance to make an important decision in the course of his fate. Even if he was considered a criminal after this, he could never be as low as he had been for so long. Considering that... </p><p>How could he possibly refuse?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>pardon the grammar errors, i wrote this at, like, midnight.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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